


Once Upon a Dream

by nishikiss



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishikiss/pseuds/nishikiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AUish. Today, you wake up again reminding yourself that she is gone. –Lucy, Layla</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> written on the spur of the moment because i have lots of emotions that need to go somewhere. written in 2nd person because i wanted to try something new.
> 
> disclaimer: just a broke college student, sorry.

* * *

 

You are seven, and while the world around you is incredibly beautiful, you see nothing but duty in front of your girlish eyes. While you are seven, sometimes you feel like you are much, much older than you are supposed to be, especially when you have etiquette, business, music, and more ridiculous things you have to know than you can handle on your small shoulders. You pout a little when you see the reminder of uninteresting math homework and music scores you have to learn by the end of the week, and when you sit down and sigh with all the sadness a seven-year-old girl could summon, you hear the door open. You turn around in anticipation, hoping to see sunny blonde hair and soft brown eyes twinkling with all the mischief and love you know in the world, and the spark and happiness in your eyes matches your mama's when you see her head peak through the wooden door.

"So I heard my favorite little girl is drowning in homework," she opens and enters the door with a smile that instantly brightens up your day.

"Mama," you pout with puppy eyes, "Save me!" You say this in a singsong, whiny voice, instantly feeling seven instead of seventeen again.

"Hmm," she pretends to be deep in thought with concentration before she points a finger in sudden inspiration as a big smile breaks the crease between her brows, "How about some ice cream?"

"Yes!" you answer happily before you bounce off your chair and run toward the center of your world.

She smiles and takes your hand, and you find yourself unable to fight to smile that's making its way onto your face.

* * *

Being eight is hard when your father only remembers your birthday when your mama reminds him. He is immersed in numbers and business and a world you have no desire to belong in, but when you accidentally slips out that you don't want to inherit his business, he accidentally smashes a vase onto the floor and yells at you for being silly.

You feel a little hurt, but it doesn't stop you from smiling and laughing and living because your mama is here to make up for all the emptiness your father unconsciously gives. You tell yourself it's because he loves you that he makes you do everything that you don't want to do – learn about merchandising, mathematics, history of uninteresting things, instruments you don't want to learn, proper eating etiquette. But sometimes, you are scared that he really doesn't love you because he acknowledges the existence of a Lucy Heartfilia, but never you.

"I don't think Father likes me," you tell this to your mama one day.

"Darling," you mama gestures for you to come as she lays in bed way past time to get up, "It's not like that. Your father loves you very much; he's just an awkward man who doesn't know how to express his love."

You climb onto her tall, tall bed with the grace of a stumbling eight-year-old child and wrap your still sort of stubby arms around your mama's neck. Inhaling her calming lavender scent and making yourself comfortable in her arms, you nod to the beat of her heart. Even though you love your mama more than anyone else in the universe, you don't really believe her because you also see the frown on her pretty face when he forgets that you are only human.

But her voice is soft and beautiful, just like she is, and it makes you want to believe it's true because she says so.

"Can you read me a story, Mama?" you whisper sleepily as you lay in her arms.

"Of course, dear. What would you like to hear?" she replies with enthusiasm that never fails to make you smile.

"The one about the stars and the dragon and the princess!" you exclaim excitingly, the traces of sleepiness temporary leaves you.

"You're fond of that story, huh?" she smiles, "Okay, well! Let us begin then! Once upon a time…"

The sound of her soothing voice lulls you to a peaceful sleep, to a world where there are only ice cream and storybooks and stars and Mama and you. You are eight, and even though you have the constant pressure to be perfect by the standards of a father who isn't really like a father, you see the world in an iridescent shade of life because your mama is here. You know the world is beautiful, but you remember nothing is prettier than the sight of your mama's sunny smile.

* * *

Life as a nine year old only gets harder because there are always, always more unexciting and unimportant – to your standards anyways – things to learn. Your father decides it's a good idea for you to begin learning the differences between small things like the types of tealeaves and different materials used to make teacups. You don't care for those things, if you're honest, but you cannot go against your father's wishes. Begrudgingly you begin to learn about things you probably will never use again under a scary, strict tutor that makes you wish for your mama.

You don't see her as often nowadays because you're always busy going from lesson to lesson. It makes you sad because your life is in black and white without the sunny laughter of your mama.

So when you sneak out at night to go see your mama – which, you can definitely say, is the most daring thing you have ever done – you end up running into her opened arms.

"Hey there," she laughs with tired but twinkling eyes, though she isn't able to pick you up anymore, "Missed me?"

"More than you can imagine," you sigh in contentment as you bury your head in the crook of her neck. "Miss Gertrude is very scary."

"I'm sorry, dear," she whispers and you can feel the regret in her voice.

"I wish you could be my teacher instead. You're so much more fun," you reply airily, almost as if that is only an unattainable dream.

After a moment of silence, you hear your mama say as she holds your hand, "Let me tell you what. I'll teach you something fun tonight!"

You stare at her in both shock and excitement because you do know that your mama's body is weakening, but you're so, so excited because it's been forever since you spend any time with her. "Really?"

"Of course! Have I ever lied to you, you silly girl?" she answers with a smile and pokes you in the forehead.

"Never!" you exclaim happily as she leads you outside.

When your mama leads you and reaches a part of the backyard that you've never travel to before, you are in awe. You've never been here before, and you probably would've never discover this place if your mama didn't show it to you, but you are so bewildered. The deep night sky contrasts with the bright sparkling stars, and the view is so clear and beautiful and you think this is probably what falling in love feels like.

You hear the rustling of your mama's dress as she lies down, and you join her shortly after. The two of you lay beneath the stars, and she begins pointing out stars and constellations. You listen attentively, mostly because this is far more interesting than staring at numbers that only cause pain and learning the history behind every single investor in your father's company, but also because your mama is teaching you about the stars and constellations you didn't know before and the story behind each one of them. Occasionally, you inject bits and pieces to the story, and your mama laughs quietly and lets you create a completely new story based off the original. You feel special because this is like some sort of secret story that only the two of you know.

"This is the biggest adventure I've ever had!" you tell her as the two of you finally leave the secret place where only the two of you know. "Thank you so much for taking me out tonight. I really can't imagine a world without you, Mama."

You didn't catch the sad smile on her face as you fall asleep in your bed hours past your bedtime with happiness etched on your face.

* * *

Ten, you decide, is the worst number in history as you stare at your mama lying on a white bed inside a white room. She almost looks like she's sleeping peacefully, if it isn't for her pale complexion and the multiple tubes and IVs hanging around her. You heart almost breaks as you watch your mama's chest rise up and down, each breath taken with the help with a strange machine you both love and hate.

Your mama's health has been deteriorating and her body is slowly giving out on her. While you know this, nothing prepares you for the sudden heart attack she had while you are away on a camp you begged to go on. Of course, your father objects, but your mama urges you to go anyways. You still remember you were so excited and in such a rush to go that you didn't get to properly say goodbye to your mama. You regret going so, so much even though you know you could've done nothing to prevent it from happening, but as you hear the doctor's reports and the results of her brain waves scan, you want to curse the world. Her body is weak to begin with, and now after this, her heart is weak, and due to the stopping of her heart and the lack of oxygen in her brain, a majority of her brain is damaged. The doctors tell your father and you that they don't know if she will ever wake up, and even if she does, she cannot function as she did; if she is lucky, she will be able to recognize people.

Your father is in rage – he is yelling in disbelief and contacts more doctors in hopes of hearing something different, something positive, anything that will save the only person he ever cared about. You could only sit in the chair next to the bed and watch as your sun slowly sets. Your brain knows there's nothing you can do as you watch her comatose state, and if she goes, she goes. But your heart cannot catch up. You cannot imagine a world where there is no Mama, where she isn't here to shine a bright light in your life with her laughter and her sunny personality. Suddenly the world blurs around you, and you cannot breathe as droplets of water hits your clenched hands on your lap.

You hold your mama's hand as your father walk out of the room with downcast eyes. You want to talk to her, but the speech you prepare in your head drowns in silence as your voice gives out on you. There is so much you want to tell your mama, but all the words in your head just come out as broken sobs. You feel the sympathetic glance of your caretakers as they embrace you, but all you can think about is that your mama won't open her eyes.

You don't know how to be when you cannot hear your mama's voice anymore, but you will do every and anything to take care of her. You would give anything, anything for her to open her eyes, for her to wake up, for her to live. Your days continue as usual: you wake up, you learn, you study, you eat, you sleep. But you find yourself unable to sleep more than two hours without waking up, the things you learn disappears by the end of your lesson, and you don't have much of an appetite anymore. Your mama isn't there to brighten your day up with ice cream or stories or astrology lessons anymore. There are traces of her everything in the house – the pictures she put up, the strange vase she likes so much, the lavender scent lotions, the strands of long blonde hair, and the voicemails on your phone. When you see these things, you feel like your heart is breaking all over again because your life is so, so empty, and it hurts. Suddenly, the world doesn't seem so pretty anymore.

It is selfish of you, you know, when you absolutely refuse when the doctors mention pulling the plugs after a week. You are livid and want to shout at them for being so useless, but you find that you cannot say a word without crying. People tell you to be strong, to stop crying, but how can you be stop when your rock is halfway gone. It's not like you want to cry either because your eyes are already raw from crying, but it seems like all you can do is cry. And when your tears finally stop, a new batch takes over even at the slightest things that remind you of her. You feel so pathetic because you cannot do anything without water leaking from your eyes, and you almost hate yourself for being so weak.

You refuse to listen to your father discuss with the housekeepers and the doctors about the worst case scenario where your mama  _dies._  You tune out somber tone of the doctors and the broken tone of your father because you do not want to accept a reality where your mama isn't here. You don't want to even think about her leaving you because she is your world. When your father turns to you the first time in years and asks you what do you think you guys should do if she dies, you find yourself unable to hold back the tears. The world without your mother is so scary and dark, and you never want to see it.

But luck is never on your side. After a month of struggling, she leaves your father and you fifty years too early. She never opens her eyes again, and you never get to tell her how much you love her and a proper goodbye. She will never get to see you complain about puberty or laugh at you when you freak out about your first period. She will never get to see you go to school or feel proud of you when you graduate as valedictorian. She will never get to hear you talk about stupid boys who stole your heart or hold you whenever you break up with a dumb boy who didn't deserve your attention. She will never get to see you marry or help you when you give birth. She will never get to raise your children as she did you or worry about you through middle age crisis.

All you get is incomplete flashbacks and memories of your mama and emptiness in your heart and soul. You find yourself sleeping in her bed and repeatedly listening to the voicemails she left you on your phone while your father drowns himself in work. You tell yourself you have to be strong and smile and live for the both of you, but you cannot because she isn't here. She isn't with you anymore, and every time you think about that fact, your heart breaks again.

You wonder if it ever gets better.

* * *

Now you are older and wiser, or so they tell you. (But then again, they also tell you the pain fades with time.) You are seventeen without anything to fear because all that you fear already happened. But sometimes you still wake up to your pillow wet with tears as you dream about your mama during your happier days. Sometimes you still write letters to her and pick up her strange habit of saving the toppings on ice cream for last. Sometimes the fact that she is gone still hasn't hit you, and you still subconsciously turn to ask for her opinion on which dress looks better or if this boy is worth dating. You still miss her all the time, and sometimes you realize in horror that you are still the ten-year-old girl crying in the hospital room on the inside. You smile wistfully as you glance up at the starry night skies that doesn't twinkle in beauty anymore,

it doesn't.


End file.
